


And In The Meantime

by ohyoudork



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohyoudork/pseuds/ohyoudork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ernst has one of the worst weeks of his life, his best friends Melchior, Moritz, and Ilse decide to take him out to forget his troubles. But he ends up finding even more trouble when Melchior bets him to seduce a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And In The Meantime

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as part of the [Small Parts Fanwork Exchange](http://smallpartsfest.livejournal.com/).

"For fuck’s sake, E, you look like someone killed your cat or something."

Ernst scowled at Melchior, who was seated across the table, and flicked him off at the same time for added effect. He wasn’t in the mood for another lecture from his self-righteous friend about the uselessness of wallowing.

He’d agreed to come out with his friends only after they had badgered him to the point of exhaustion. And because he was tired of Moritz sending him concerned glances from across their apartment, of Ilse making him mixes with cliche themes like "Hope," and of Melchior delivering long diatribes about how the world tries to break everyone down because it’s "scared of the strength we have" or something along those lines.

He didn’t know why they thought taking him to a dive bar would help his mood. It wasn’t even the good dive bar; there was a pecking order, after all. The Wild Stallion was the nicest of the cheap places, with decent bands, reasonably-priced drinks, and little to no fear of getting stabbed in the restroom since it was relatively close to campus. The next step down was the Red Door, with a functioning jukebox, drink specials for the undergrads, and an almost charming shabbiness to the interior. They, however, were not at either of those - they were at The Parking Lot, named such because the parking lot was in a better state than the bar itself, or so Ernst thought.

Ernst knew they ended up there a lot because it was only a block from his and Moritz’ apartment (and walking a few feet and up a flight of stairs was much easier than dealing with having a designated driver or getting a cab). But sometimes, like now, he wondered if they wouldn’t be better off hanging out in the actual parking lot instead.

He glanced up, where there were literally hundreds of items stuck to the ceiling with tape, push pins, and sticky tack - everything from utensils to playing cards to socks. The place was such a hole in the wall that you could easily touch the ceiling by standing on one of the tables, which had apparently encouraged the clientele to do exactly that. The Parking Lot had the cheapest and worst beer and needed a paint job about 10 years ago. There was only one working toilet in either bathroom, and the solitary TV suspended above the counter was stuck on PBS.

Yet, the worst thing about The Parking Lot was its entertainment or lack thereof - they had karaoke.

Currently, a very intoxicated girl was butchering "Landslide," with even the DJ losing the battle to keep a straight face. How Ernst’s friends thought this would be the way to cheer him up was beyond him. What he needed was a lot more beer to black out the absolutely miserable week he’d had.

It had started on Monday night when he was only a page away from being done with his 15-page English paper, and his computer had made a literal sputtering sound (something like a small-engine plane going down) and then promptly shut off. The thought of losing his past three hours of work had been distressing enough, but as he tried to reboot it, it wouldn’t turn back on. When he took it to his friend who was a wizard with computers the next morning, it was pronounced dead, the hard drive fried, taking his entire paper and countless assignments with it. That afternoon, he’d had a history test that he knew he was failing even as he took it. On Wednesday, he’d overslept and missed his early-morning communications class where the teacher was a stickler for attendance. He knew he’d have a whole percentage point knocked off his final grade for not having a good reason for his absence.

However, the real icing on the cake had come on Thursday when Ernst went to visit his almost-but-not-quite boyfriend Henry. They’d been regularly hooking up for weeks, and Ernst didn’t know what they really were because Henry was one of those "I don’t subscribe to labels" types. Ernst had convinced himself that he’d be OK with a casual thing, though he’d never had success with them in the past. Even though he knew he wasn’t in love with Henry or anything, he could admit to himself that he was hoping for something more, something substantial, to eventually develop between them.

When he let himself into Henry’s apartment, he was greeted with sounds that could only be murder or sex. He took a few steps more, even though every muscle in his body was screaming at him to leave because there was no way this would have a happy ending. And then suddenly he was at the bedroom and watching Henry curled up behind some blonde kid who looked barely 18 - both of them naked and sweaty in the glare of the fluorescent lighting. ("Why the hell weren’t the lights off?" Ernst had wanted to yell, even though he knew that was so not the point.)

The fair-haired kid had the decency to be shocked at being caught, rolling off the bed and hiding in a tangle of sheets on the floor. Henry had just propped his head up with his hand and looked at Ernst, telling him to fuck off with an icy stare and a slow raise of his eyebrow, no words needed. Ernst had never run faster out of anywhere in his life.

After Ernst got home, he ran straight into his bedroom and hadn’t left it for 24 hours (except to pee once, grudgingly). When Moritz called Ilse and Melchior and they picked the lock to break into his room, they found Ernst curled up underneath two blankets, listening to Belle & Sebastian on repeat, and watching reruns of "The Newlywed Game" on Game Show Network. They’d insisted an invention was necessary before things got dire.

And that was how he found himself sitting in a booth at The Parking Lot with his three best friends, fighting the urge to punch Melchior in his smug face for thinking the outing would magically fix everything. At least they all agreed that alcohol made things seem better, Ernst thought as he took a long gulp of his beer.

"I’m sorry that I’m not the best company right now," Ernst said in a low voice as he set the bottle down. "I told you I wouldn’t be, so you can’t get mad at me."

Next to him, Moritz patted his arm gently. "We don’t need you to be good company. We just didn’t want you holed up in your room and feeling sorry for yourself all weekend."

"I have every right to --"

"We know," Ilse interrupted from across the table, her thick red hair in a long braid almost swinging into her glass as she leaned forward. "You’ve had a rough time, and it sucks. But you always have us. Just try to forget about the bad shit and enjoy yourself, OK? At least for tonight? You can go back to moping tomorrow."

The drunk girl finally finished singing and stumbled off the makeshift stage into the arms of her two girl friends who had been standing near the entire time, taking video while cautiously keeping an eye on her balance. One of the girls noticed Ernst looking at them and smiled; he scowled back and turned away.

"Plus," Melchior continued, "I don’t know why you’re still this upset anyway. First of all, education is important, yes, but the endless cycle of standardized testing and carbon-copy research papers stifle any true learning in this useless institution. Most of the time I don’t understand why any of us are here, why getting a degree is somehow necessary to fulfill your place in the world. And computers have created an impersonal world of Facebook statuses and filtered pictures and 140-character tweets that don’t mean a goddamn thing. I think the universe was trying to tell you something by taking yours away. Secondly, sex is a natural part of life; humans and animals alike aren’t meant for monogamy, and especially not the strict interpretation we have of it - two people in one relationship forever and ever. It’s not natural. So, in a way, Henry did you a favor by -- owww!"

Ilse slapped Melchior hard on the back of his head, and Ernst found himself smiling despite the dull ache in his chest that hadn’t gone away since seeing Henry pressed up against someone that wasn’t him.

"I know something that’s going to cheer you up," Ilse said, downing the last of her beer. She tapped her multicolored nails on the table like a drum roll and grinned mischievously. "For real."

Ernst doubted it. "And what’s that?"

He glanced over at Moritz, who looked equally confused, his cheeks already pink just two beers in. Lightweight, Ernst thought fondly.

Ilse was about to answer when the DJ read out in a slightly bored drawl, "Ilse and Moritz. Come on up here, guys."

"You didn’t," Moritz said quietly, his hand moving from the table to encircle Ernst’s arm instinctively, as if Ernst would be able to save him. Melchior burst out laughing.

"Oh, I did," Ilse smiled sweetly as she stood up and offered a hand to Moritz. "We’re cheering Ernst up. Come on."

The death grip Moritz had on his bicep was starting to hurt, so Ernst nudged his friend to the edge of the booth, to where he practically fell on the floor. Ilse took his hands and dragged him toward the stage. Watching nervous Moritz sing in front of people actually would cheer him up tremendously. Ernst turned his body and propped his leg up onto the seat to have a better view; Melchior did the same, his pale skin poking out through the artful tear in the knee of his black jeans.

Ilse took the mic from the DJ and handed it to Moritz, whose eyes were starting to glaze over. He steadied himself against the large speaker to his left while Ilse grabbed another mic and nodded to the DJ to start the song.

When the soft piano of "Falling Slowly" started playing, there was an audible groan from the patrons. Yet, Ilse ignored them as she began to sing, taking the larger part of the duet for herself in order to put Moritz at ease, Ernst suspected. Ilse’s beautiful, low voice was a breath of fresh air from the drunk girl who’d preceded them. 

While the couple sang on the pitiful excuse for a stage, Ernst was struck, as always, at how complimentary their oppositions were. Ilse with her fiery hair falling out of its loose braid, strands framing her freckled face, was like a modern hippie. She wore a loose button-down shirt, cuffs rolled around her elbows, over top of bright, floral-patterned leggings. Her thin-strapped sandals were so slim it was almost as if she were barefoot. She held the microphone with both hands, staring at Moritz lovingly.

In contrast, Moritz was petrified, his crystal blue eyes glued to the screen with the lyrics flashing by. He held the mic in one hand while the other was stuffed into the pocket of his jeans that were just a bit tighter than usual - making Ernst suspect they were actually his since he had thinner limbs than Moritz. The bottom of one leg was tucked in his worn high-top Converse, while the other lay over top. His blue and red plaid shirt was rumpled and mis-buttoned at the bottom. The undercut that Ilse has convinced him to get a few weeks ago suited his slightly askew look perfectly, his wavy brown hair shorn on one side and falling almost to his ear on the other.

Some people balanced each other so well that it was practically impossible. Nothing convinced him of this more than watching Moritz and Ilse predicting each other’s harmonies and the slightest motions of their heads. Just as Ilse reached toward Moritz, he slipped his hand out of his pocket to reach for her, their fingers intertwining.

It would be nauseating if he didn’t love them both so much. Well, it was still pretty sickening actually.

He wanted what they had. He wanted it so bad that he could taste it. Since he’d started "seriously" dating about five years ago, he’d been in more relationships than most people went through in a lifetime. Yet, so far it had never been right. Usually it was his fault. He knew he fell too quickly and too hard. He’d told one of his boyfriends he loved him after only a month; he’d invited another to dinner with his parents on the second date.

But even among those with whom he took his time, things still didn’t go right. He was always left searching for something more, something real. No part of him had thought what he and Henry had was real yet, but that didn’t stop it from stinging.

Ernst turned to look from the stage and caught Melchior staring at him.

"What?" he mouthed to his friend, feeling even grumpier than he had when they’d arrived.

"I’m getting us shots!" Melchior shouted, standing up on the booth seat and vaulting over the side, miraculously landing with impeccable form, even though Ernst knew he shouldn’t be surprised by anything Melchior was able to accomplish at this point. He was the guy who, after all, had been able to get into the university weeks after missing the deadline, had been the youngest starting player on the rugby team, and was on his way to graduate a semester early with a near-perfect GPA despite the fact he skipped at least half his classes regularly just to "stick it to the man."

Ernst wanted to be pissed off at how effortless everything seemed for Melchior when his own life was swirling somewhere around the seventh circle of hell. But shots sounded perfect.

He turned back to watch Ilse and Moritz finish their song, even though their attempt to cheer him up was failing miserably. Moritz’ nerves had all but disappeared while holding Ilse’s hand, and even some of the other people in the bar were looking on fondly. Ernst fought the urge to pull his phone out of his pocket to check for messages he knew wouldn’t be there. The only texts he’d gotten in the past day were from Ilse and Moritz, begging Ernst to talk to them, and from his brothers - the eldest reminding Ernst that he was visiting their parents with his new wife next week and the middle one sending a picture of a smiling kid who he’d removed a tumor from. His wonderful, successful, over-achieving brothers.

Melchior popped around the side of the booth, holding a tray with four shot glasses filled with some kind of amber liquor. He set the tray on the table and placed one shot in front of Ernst and then took one for himself and put the others in front of Moritz and Ilse’s empty spots. Ernst picked his up immediately, downing what he determined to be whiskey, without a second thought. The slight burn as it hit the back of his throat and then went down made his eyes water a little, but he forced himself to not sputter. Melchior looked on appreciatively.

"Nice going, E. That’s the easiest I’ve ever seen you take a shot. You should get dumped more often," Melchior picked up his glass and rocked his head back as he swallowed.

"You’re a dick," Ernst muttered, reaching for Moritz’ shot because he never drank hard alcohol and Melchior never seemed to remember that. Ernst swallowed that shot down quick, too, placing both small glasses back on the tray.

Ernst could feel the alcohol traveling down his throat and into his stomach, which growled in opposition because, in addition to not leaving his room for 24 hours, he hadn’t had anything to eat besides what he had stashed on his dresser (some on-their-way-to-being-stale Wheat Thins and two bananas that weren’t quite ripe enough).

"I’m not a dick. I’m being honest. Henry wasn’t good enough for you, and he did you a favor by showing you just how unworthy he was."

Those weren’t words that normally came out of Melchior’s mouth. It’s not that Melchior was a bad person by any means. Yet, encouraging words, borderline affectionate words, weren’t his way. Ernst had gotten used to that ages ago. Melchior had had the world handed to him on a silver plate since he was born (rich parents, the best private schools, new cars, lavish parties), and he both hated it and used it to his advantage. The dichotomy created a strange combination of a person - arrogant but loyal, calculating but reckless, stubborn but detached.

Ernst stared at Melchior, who only stared back with his huge brown eyes. They were sincere, almost pleading, like Melchior needed Ernst to understand he wasn’t joking. The genuineness was rare, considering Melchior was usually being sarcastic, overbearing, or using his goddamn bedroom eyes to woo someone back to his apartment

"What did we miss?" Ilse said suddenly, flopping down on the booth. Ernst hadn’t even noticed that they’d finished their performance. Her eyes lit up immediately when she noticed the shot in front of her. "Melchi, you’re a rock star."

While Ilse drank her whiskey, Moritz slipped back next to Ernst, shaking just slightly, his face paler than it was before.

"You OK?" Ernst asked, leaning his elbow up on Moritz’ shoulder.

"I’m going to have nightmares tonight," he replied in a strained voice. "All those eyes..."

"You were brilliant though, babe," Ilse said, reaching across the table to pat his hand. "I love singing with you."

"You both were great," Melchior agreed, sticking his finger into the empty shot glass to slide it around in front of him in a figure-eight pattern. "Our very own golden couple."

The cavernous hole in Ernst’s chest deepened. "You guys make it look easy," he said quietly, folding his arms onto the table and leaning his head down to rest his chin on them.

Ilse sighed. "You know it’s not easy for us, E. Getting this one to step out of his comfort zone is a daily struggle," she said, pointing at Moritz with a smile. "Do you remember how many times I had to ask him out before he realized what I was actually doing?"

"It was only like twice - OK, maybe three times. But getting you to stop and stay in one place for more than five minutes isn’t a walk in the park either," Moritz chuckled as he swatted her finger away.

"You guys are gross, and your overwhelming sweetness isn’t helping Ernst get over being dumped," Melchior chimed in, incredibly not helpful as always.

Ernst groaned and rested his forehead on his hands. He loved his friends - he really did - but he was starting to think even getting plastered with his favorite people wouldn’t lift his mood. Maybe being this lonely, self-pityingly loser was his destiny after all.

"I know what will actually help him," Ernst heard Melchior say. "And he’s standing by the bar."

Thinking it was Henry, ready to make copious apologies, Ernst lifted his head quickly and scanned the bar area with bleary eyes. Not spotting his ex, Ernst turned back to glare at Melchior.

"That guy," Melchior nodded toward the furthest end of the bar, the curls of his dark blonde hair falling onto his forehead. "And don’t be so obvious, god."

Ernst rolled his eyes, but pretended to stretch out and naturally crane his neck to see behind him. The only people he saw were two middle-age drunks arguing and the bartender talking to a guy with bleached blonde hair that should have made him much less attractive than he was. Who bleached their hair anymore anyway?

"Melchi, who are you talking about?" Ernst turned back to face his friends, exasperated.

"I know you saw him. That hot guy talking to the bartender," Melchior had hopped up onto his knees on the seat, leaning forward with his elbows on the table to get close to Ernst’s face. "He’s been watching you pretty steady for like five minutes now."

Cocking an eyebrow, Ernst turned to look one more time, this time focusing on the stranger. God, he really was hot. He had light-colored eyes, either blue or gray, Ernst couldn’t tell in the dimness of the bar. But they were piercing. His features were sharp, with a straight nose and angular jaw. His mouth was formed into an almost amused smirk with the fullest lips that Ernst had ever seen on a man. And then the shock of platinum hair irrationally added to it. The guy turned, as if sensing someone’s eyes on him, and their gazes locked for just a second before Ernst, embarrassed at getting caught, spun his head back forward. He felt a little dizzy, and he didn’t know why.

"Awww, you’re blushing, E," Ilse cooed.

Ernst slid down, hiding behind the wall of the booth, wrapping his arms across his chest. He wished, not for the first time, that he could melt into the furniture and magically teleport back to the safety and anonymity of his apartment. There was no good reason a guy like that would be looking at him. He knew he wasn’t ugly and he knew he had good qualities - it’s not like he was a leper or anything - but that didn’t compare to the almost breathtaking beauty of the stranger at the bar, or of Henry, or any of the great qualities of any of his boyfriends before then. He was always looking outside his league, and that needed to stop. Maybe it wasn’t that they weren’t good enough for him, like Melchior said, but that he wasn’t good enough for them.

"Ernst, are you alright?" Moritz asked softly, shuffling lower to match Ernst’s position.

"No, yeah, definitely, of course I am. It’s always a great thing to be stared at by some fucking model, who probably gets his kicks laughing over how ridiculous people react to him. Yeah, that’s exactly what I needed to end this perfect week."

Melchior groaned and gently pushed Ilse over so he could get out of the booth. He pulled Moritz up and sat down in his place, leaving Moritz momentarily confused until he went to sit by Ilse.

"OK, the pity party really needs to stop," Melchior said, throwing an arm over Ernst’s shoulder and pulling him to sit upright.

"Come on, Melchi. Just leave me alone," Ernst closed his eyes and threw his head back against the seat.

"Look, I know Henry hurt you. And I know your self-confidence took a blow because of that. And I’m not saying that dude over there is going to solve all your problems or make everything better. But also, you don’t know that he won’t."

Ernst turned his head to look at Melchior, sitting there with his sincere eyes again. "And when exactly did you turn into such an optimist? Aren’t you the guy who says relationships are for losers, and it’s just a vain attempt to ‘look for a meaningful connection’ that actually doesn’t exist?"

Melchior chuckled and scratched at the base of his neck. "You know most of what I say is me talking out of my ass. And even if I wasn’t, just because I believe that doesn’t mean you have to. You have so much love to give, Ernst. Like, more than anyone I’ve ever met. And that’s a good thing. You give so much of yourself to us and your brothers and your parents. And you still have even more to give. You deserve to have someone feel the same about you."

"But Henry --"

"Henry was a twat," Ilse interrupted from across the table. "He may have been gorgeous, but he was a cocky, hypocritical asshole who preached about equality and social justice, but treated everyone around him like shit."

"And Will --"

"Will was a sweet guy, sure, but he knew he was still in love with his ex the entire time he was with you. That’s why he cheated, not because of anything you did or didn’t do," Moritz chimed in.

"And Peter --"

"Anyone who visited and called home as much as he did had a lot more underlying issues than we can properly discuss," Melchior took a breath. "Look, Ernst, the point is, you’ve had a lot of bad relationships. Probably more than average, but certainly nothing outrageous. We, as your friends, are here to tell you that you’re amazing, OK? You do seem to have really bad judgement when it comes to guys though. Lucky for you, I have an excellent sense of people."

Ernst was almost afraid to see where this was going.

"I have a bet for you," Melchior continued, mussing Ernst’s hair playfully. "Interested?"

Ernst was annoyed to admit he was. "Go on."

"I bet that if you go talk to that guy, you won’t regret it. Introduce yourself, sit down, have a chat. You do that, and something good will happen," Melchior said. "If it does, if I’m right, you’ll just owe me a favor at some point in time. If it doesn’t, you can choose something from the ceiling - anything up there - and I’ll... I’ll lick it! So what do you say, Ernst? It’s a win-win for you, honestly. Do we have a bet?"

Maybe the guy with bleached hair and those magnificent eyes wouldn’t be his soulmate, but when it came down to it, how would he know unless he kept trying? And the prospect of making Melchior lick a flip-flop that had been stuck on the ceiling of The Parking Lot for years was too good an opportunity to waste.

Ernst reached out his hand and shook Melchior’s firmly to make the bet binding. He bumped Melchior to the side and stood up at the edge of their table, taking hold of his beer to down the rest of it. When he put the bottle back on the table, he pointed at all three of his friends.

"If I look like I need rescuing at any point in time, I want one or all of you to come and take me home. Bet over, OK?"

They all nodded - Melchior with a smug grin, Ilse with a hopeful smile, and Moritz with a nervous laugh. His wonderful, supportive, manipulative friends.

Ernst rounded the side of the booth and felt his pulse start to race. But, instead of letting his anxiety take control like it was trying to, he decided he would do this the right way - he was going to seduce this guy. He was going to turn on the charm that he must have somewhere deep inside and knock the socks off this stranger who had no idea what he was in for.

He went past his friends on the opposite side of the booth and walked down the length of the bar, trying his best to create some sense of allure. He looked down at his wrinkled V-neck shirt and even more wrinkled jeans and wished he had had the foresight to dress himself properly; at least Ilse had been able to convince him to shower before they left, so he knew he smelled like an ocean breeze. He hoped the stranger, who was now only feet away, liked the ocean. And maybe had a fondness for awkward boys with sweaty hands.

As Ernst approached, the blonde guy looked up from his beer and, for the first time, Ernst got a close-up look at those eyes that were so unnaturally bright that Ernst had to believe they were contacts or something. Eyes were not that shade of almost silver in real life. Ernst felt his stomach drop, and all of the confidence he had built up on the short walk instantly evaporated. Fuck.

"Mind if I sit?" Ernst asked. His default mode was politeness so it shouldn’t have been surprisingly that the first thing out of his mouth would sound like how someone talks to their parents.

He was embarrassed to find that he was so weak in the knees that he slid up on the stool without waiting for a response.

"By all means," the stranger replied in a cool voice, sporting a half-smile as he angled himself slightly to face Ernst. "I’m Hanschen."

"Ernst," he said, signaling to the bartender that he wanted another beer. Scratch that - he needed another beer.

With a pitiful excuse for introductions completed, Ernst was at a loss. The art of seduction had never been one of his strong points in the first place, much less faced with such an intimidating subject. He tried to remember what guys had said to him in the past, any of the array of cheesy pickup lines he’d heard, or anything to say that wouldn’t be the ever-increasingly awkward silence. The guy... Hanschen... was going to think he was an idiot, if he didn’t already.

"My friend bet me that I wouldn’t come over and talk to you," Ernst finally blurted out. Where the hell did that come from? 

"And why would he do that?" Hanschen said, raising an eyebrow and shifting just slightly closer, as if he both wanted and didn’t want Ernst to notice.

"Well, because he’s a bit of an asshole, and he didn’t think I would do it." That part was obnoxiously true. "But he’s one of my best friends, and he thought maybe talking to you would make my bad week better."

Hanschen still wasn’t fully smiling, but the corners of his mouth ticked up just a bit. Ernst couldn’t tell if he was amused or intrigued or just tolerating him. "And why did you have a bad week?"

Ernst hesitated for a second, but he figured, why the hell not. He clearly wasn’t winning Hanschen over with his devastating good looks or masterful flirtation. So he told Hanschen about his computer blowing up and failing the test and missing his class, but he was purposely vague about Henry, choosing to only say that "someone betrayed him." Hanschen listened attentively, his gaze never leaving Ernst’s face.

When Ernst was done, Hanschen sighed softly - which Ernst couldn’t interpret - and then asked, "So what’s your major? English?"

"History actually," Ernst answered. "With a minor in education, to be specific. Why would you think English?"

"You just struck me as one, that’s all," Hanschen took a long drink of his beer, letting his other hand rest on his thigh, tapping his fingers which were close to Ernst’s knee. Ernst noticed with a razor-sharp clarity.

He continued, "College is like a strange, little bubble within the societal structure. It’s actually quite funny how the choice of majors describes who we are, not just what we want to be. Take your friend who bet you to come over here." Hanschen’s eyes flickered over to Melchior for a second, even though Ernst had never said which friend it was. "He clearly enjoys controlling the situation, creating a little chaos in order to calm it. I’m willing to say he’s probably very intelligent and mindful of that intelligence; he’s aware of the effect he has on people and loves it. He’s most likely the leader within your little group and thinks himself quite the rebel. I’d guess he’s a poli sci or economics major, with aspirations to actually go into politics."

Ernst was dumbstruck for a second. How could he possibly know that just from looking at someone? Then he had a thought. "Most of the campus knows who Melchior is. It’s not like it would be hard to already know that about him."

Hanschen narrowed his eyes for a second and then looked back at Ernst’s group of friends.

"The redhead likes to talk but likes to listen just as much. She’s curious and once she gets her claws into something, she doesn’t let go until she wins or gets to the bottom of it or understands or whatever the situation calls for. She’s probably a journalism major, right?"

Prepared for that guess, Ernst struck back almost immediately. "Well, she is the editor of the newspaper here. It doesn’t take a genius to know that."

The smirk on Hanschen’s face grew, as if he was enjoying it. Hell, for all Ernst knew, he was probably was. Maybe he got off on this kind of game. And not for nothing, Ernst found he was actually enjoying it, too. It was fascinating to hear Hanschen describe his friends with such remarkable accuracy. Even if Hanschen had heard of them or run into them on campus, there was no denying his adapt descriptions. The real challenge, however, was Moritz.

"Now, your skittery friend is tougher to nail down," Hanschen said, biting his bottom lip. Ernst was convinced Hanschen knew exactly the effect that had - which was basically sucking the air out of Ernst’s lungs. "Something tells me he’s an only child, which is why his people skills aren’t that great. And he had a rough childhood. He’s quiet, but when he talks, he says a lot. I think he has an appreciation of music, maybe plays something himself, but would never pursue that. I’m going to go with education... elementary education."

Ernst knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t be bothered with the unattractiveness of that. How could Hanschen possibly have guessed? Ernst couldn’t believe it himself when he and Moritz had discovered they both wanted to be teachers, Moritz in elementary with Ernst focusing more on high school or college. It didn’t seem like what Moritz would be interested in, not with his nerves and fear of public speaking; it was only after Ernst had gotten to know him, understand his past and his family troubles, that it made sense that he’d want to help shape and encourage young minds. Hanschen had picked up on those subtleties almost immediately, and Ernst was astounded.

"OK, that’s fucking incredible. So tell me why you thought I was an English major," Ernst found himself drawing closer in to Hanschen, bringing his arm down on the bar with his fingers almost close enough to touch the pale skin of Hanschen’s forearm.

"Well, if I’m being honest, I noticed you when you came in, and I could tell you had books in your bag. And I associate that kind of obsession with books - as in needing to bring them into a bar with you - with English majors. Of course, it makes sense for history, too. I chose English because it seemed like the opposite of what I imagine your... at least two older brothers did when they were in college."

If Ernst thought he couldn’t be more shocked, those expectations were shattered.

"How could you know that I have two older brothers? Like, how is that even possible? Are you just grasping at straws or what?" Ernst knew he should feel scared; maybe he had stumbled onto his stalker or something. But instead of fear, he was fascinated. He wanted to know how Hanschen’s mind worked, how he could arrive at seemingly impossibly correct assumptions.

"It’s mostly guess work, honestly," Hanschen leaned forward, like he was telling a deep, dark secret, and Ernst thought he was going to melt. "I’m a middle child myself, and I know how I treat my brothers and how they treat me. I can see it in your body language, your choice of words, even how you approached me. I don’t mean to be offensive or anything, really. I know some people find this intrusive."

Ernst was anything but violated. Hanschen’s insight was honestly mind-boggling, and Ernst was amazed to realize this gorgeous boy had so much more to him than just an amazing set of eyes. He had decided to take the bet partly to prove Melchior wrong, partly because he was attracted to Hanschen, and partly because he had nothing to lose. But Hanschen had proven to be something quite different than expected: more than good looks, more than a few well-placed words, more than flirtatious almost-touches. Ernst had come over to seduce him, but Hanschen was doing a much better job of it, and probably even without his knowledge.

Ernst suddenly felt the need to strike back - not to be a jerk, but just enough to let Hanschen know that Ernst wasn’t completely out of his depth, that he could hold his own, that he was still somewhat in control of this seduction that had gone almost completely off the rails.

"And what about you? Let me guess. Psychology? Since you seem so keen on interpreting people. Or maybe you’d like to challenge Melchi in politics?"

"Business, as a matter of fact. I want to be a big CEO and run one of the billion-dollar firms that control the country. I want to be the person at the top that never has to hear the word ‘no’ and always knows who he’s up against," Hanschen had the same half-smile stuck on his face, and Ernst couldn’t decide whether it infuriated him or turned him on. Hanschen leaned back, his face not betraying whether he was even remotely aware of his movements and how they were affecting Ernst all the way down to his toes.

In fact, they were at a point where he couldn’t tell if they were going to make out soon or go their separate ways, chalking the experience up to a miscommunication of looks or something. Ernst couldn’t tell if Hanschen liked him or was just passing the time.

Suddenly, the DJ said something into the microphone and Melchior stood up, encouraged by cheers from Moritz, Ilse, and other patrons at the bar. Oh god.

"Your friend, he really likes people paying attention to him, doesn’t he?" Hanschen asked, moving just an inch closer. Their knees were practically touching at this point.

"Yeah, he’s a bit of an attention whore, I guess."

Hanschen laughed for the first time. "I can tell he thinks a lot of himself."

Melchior had started singing "Heartbreak Hotel," one of his favorite go-to songs. He even did the hip swaying, which caused all of the girls and a few guys to start hooting along. Melchior ate it up, grinning and winking at everyone.

"Yeah," Ernst replied after a minute, "but he has a right to, I guess. People like watching him and egging him on."

"Are you in love with him or something?" Hanschen asked without missing a beat. Ernst couldn’t tell if he was joking or being an ass; he didn’t know if he should respond with a smartass comment or take offense. Hanschen was putting him entirely on edge, and he didn’t know if he liked it or not. It was a little exciting but also maddening.

"No, he’s one of my best friends, that’s all. And he likes being in the spotlight. Nothing wrong with that, right?"

As Melchior finished his song, with no less than four hip thrusts, the smartphone on the bar in front of Hanschen started vibrating. He furrowed his brow as he leaned forward to glance at who was calling.

"I’m sorry," Hanschen said, with seemingly real sentiment. "It’s my brother. I have to take this. Be right back, OK?"

Ernst only nodded as Hanschen swiped his phone, jumped down from the stool, and walked quickly toward the door out front. He totally didn’t watch how Hanschen’s ass moved in his tight jeans. Definitely didn’t do that.

Once he was gone, Ernst wasn’t sure if he should stay or not; the entire conversation, or strange version of a conversation, had been awkward and stilted, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny that he was incredibly drawn to Hanschen. And not just because he was sexy as hell and had those electric eyes. It was as if there had been a conversation underneath the words they said; Ernst felt like his heart understood something that just hadn’t reached his brain yet, some kind of connection that had been made without his knowledge. And he couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought Hanschen might have felt it, too. Or it could have been his imagination running away with him again, like it did when he thought there was a chance that Henry was going to commit to him.

Exhaling deeply, Ernst closed his eyes for a moment and lowered his head so his chin was against his chest. Talking to people was stressful.

"How’s it going?"

Ernst jerked his head up at Ilse’s voice; she was sitting on the stool where Hanschen had been just a moment ago. She leaned forward and put her hands on his knees, her smile so bright it was practically glowing.

"Ernst? What were you guys talking about?"

"Ummm... not much really. It’s awkward to the max. I can’t tell if he likes me or if my sheer social incompetence is amusing to him." Ernst paused. "Did I look like I needed rescuing? Is that why you’re here?"

"Actually the opposite," Moritz replied from behind him. He stepped around Ernst and stood next to Ilse, gently wrapping his hand around her long braid. "You kind of looked like you were falling in love, so we thought we should have a little conference."

With a small pout, Ernst looked down at his hands, running his thumb over his knuckles. "I wasn’t falling in love," he muttered.

"You were falling in ‘something.’ You kind of had this slack-jawed thing going on. Plus you two were sitting like two sixth-graders, playing a game of who can get just close enough but still not touch," Ilse said. "Do you like him? Plain and simple."

It may be a simple question, but it certainly didn’t have an easy answer.

"I mean, yeah, maybe, I think so? He’s... he seems like he has a lot of layers. I don’t know. I want to get to know him. I think he wants me to get to know him. But at the same time, I really don’t know if I have that in me. What if I fall too hard again? What if he’s a narcissistic sociopath or something? What if he’s just like all of my exes? God, or worse, what if he’s completely different? I can’t really explain it," Ernst shrugged helplessly, looking between his friends. "Or what if I really don’t even have a shot, so worrying about what would happen in the future is pointless anyway?"

Ilse looked concerned, her lips pursed as she tangled her fingers with Ernst’s.

"Maybe you should come home with us. We got you out of the apartment - that was our goal and we succeeded - but maybe you’ve had enough."

"I think he should stay," Moritz said abruptly. Both Ernst and Ilse looked at him questioningly. "I mean, if you want to. If you want to stay, stay. If you want to go, go. Do what makes you happy, what feels right to you. I know Melchi said you aren’t a good judge of character, but you found us, didn’t you?"

It was true that Ernst had kind of "arranged" their friendship nearly three years ago. In the first few weeks of freshman year, he and Moritz had been paired together for a project in their English class; he and Ilse had met during auditions for the college’s vocal ensemble; and he and Melchior had literally run into each other at the library as they went for the same computer. Ernst couldn’t even remember what had sparked his imagination to have the four of them hang out together, but he invited them to his dorm room one Friday night for pizza and a movie. And the rest was history - Moritz and Ilse fell head over heels for each other at first sight (even if it did take them a month to actually get together), and the four of them had stayed up until 6 in the morning discussing everything from philosophy to their families to sappy movie musicals that they all secretly loved.

"I think that takes a pretty good eye. To see a pretentious know-it-all like Melchior, a free spirit like Ilse, and an anxiety-ridden introvert like me and think ‘Hey, let’s all be friends’ takes an understanding of people that I can’t even begin to fathom."

Ernst was quite honestly a little speechless; it was more than Moritz usually liked to talk in one sitting, and he looked down at his shoes and breathed rapidly. Ilse grinned at Moritz and stood up, wrapping her arm around his waist.

"He’s right," Ilse said. "You do what you want to do. We’re going back to my place. You’re welcome there, or you can go home. Or you can stay. Melchi is still here if you really need someone to come and save you. Although he looks like he’s about halfway through some rant, judging by that girl’s starry eyes, so who knows how long he’ll actually be here."

Ernst turned around to see Melchior sitting on the top of the booth, his feet resting on the seat. A pretty girl in a blue dress was sitting on the table, tracing her fingers along the tattoo on his arm. It was some Nietzsche quote that wrapped from his wrist and swirled around and up his forearm, ending at his elbow. ("Be careful when you fight the monsters, lest you become one." Ernst knew Melchior liked the quote, but he also knew most of why he got it was precisely for that reason: to have people touch it.)

"Just... just breathe, OK?" Moritz smiled warmly as Ernst looked back at him. "Breathe in and out. Remember this isn’t life or death, and give yourself a chance. You’ll be golden."

Moritz patted him on the shoulder, and Ilse leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. Ernst just nodded, momentarily so overwhelmed with love for his friends that he was afraid he’d start crying in the middle of a dive bar. That probably wouldn’t go over well. After they’d gone, he told himself to concentrate on breathing. In and out. He turned slightly to rest his arms backward against the bar, looking out among the patrons. Some frat guy that Ernst vaguely recognized from one of his lecture classes last year was singing "Don’t Stop Believin’," and Ernst rolled his eyes so hard that he actually hurt his head a little.

As the guy was wrapping up his song, Ernst realized Hanschen had been gone for awhile; it had to be almost 10 minutes. Maybe he’d left. Maybe he’d decided to sneak out while he had the chance. Maybe he regretted looking over in the first place. If Hanschen had left, that would solve all of Ernst’s anxiety at least. Even if the idea of being left at the bar, sitting by himself like a hopeful idiot, having misread the situation so horrifically, was also terrifying. And even if that would be acknowledging just how spectacularly he had failed at "seducing" someone.

Before his second-guessing could get too out of hand, Hanschen re-appeared, coming back through the front door and looking every bit as calm as before, though Ernst could swear he saw a flash of something on Hanschen’s face as he approached - confusion or fear or uncertainty, Ernst wasn’t sure.

"I’m really sorry," Hanschen said as he sat back on the stool, his legs gently knocking into Ernst’s. "That was super rude to answer my phone and get up." His legs weren’t moving away, and Ernst was afraid he was going to burst into flames from the contact.

"It’s no big deal," Ernst managed to get out, his voice sounding strange in his ears. It was like his throat was closing in.

Hanschen scooted forward, moving one of his legs in between Ernst’s, effectively straddling Ernst’s knee with his legs. It was getting harder for Ernst to breathe; he had no clue what was going on. A few minutes ago, Hanschen had basically been going out of his way to just barely not touch Ernst. Now it was like there were magnets in their limbs.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Hanschen asked, his face suddenly much closer to Ernst’s. Those bright eyes were staring at him, no longer piercing but something else... vulnerable, unsure. This definitely wasn’t the same guy who was the picture of nonchalance before. "I don’t know. Maybe back to my place? I live closer to campus, but it’s only a few miles from here."

Every fiber of Ernst’s being wanted to just say "yes" and feel Hanschen’s body fully pressed against his, limbs tangling in the dark, hot mouths and palatable desperation. Yet, the rational part of his brain, the part that had too recently felt the sting of betrayal, was setting off a warning bell. Why would this gorgeous guy, who could have his pick of anyone in the bar, want to take him anywhere? Why had he suddenly turned hot when he was cool as a cucumber 10 minutes before? It had to be a joke, a prank, a misunderstanding.

"Look, I know you have no reason to trust me," Hanschen said.

Ernst’s hesitation must have been written all over his face.

"But I’m not out to hurt you or take advantage or anything. You can say no, and I’ll leave you alone," he continued.

Ernst realized he hadn’t replied, but he couldn’t seem to form words. It was as if his entire body was frozen, except his legs where Hanschen was touching him, which were still on fire. He tilted his head and continued looking at Hanschen through slightly narrowed eyes. He was trying to determine if he could see through the ruse - or maybe, the Hanschen he’d met first was the ruse, and this was the real one. How could he tell though?

"OK, so here’s the deal," Hanschen sat upright, thankfully giving Ernst a bit more breathing room, though their legs were still fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. "Your friends talked to me and --"

"Wait, what? Who?" Ernst interrupted, finally finding his ability to speak in his shock.

"The couple. Outside just before I came back in. I thought I would have to be scared of the cocky one over there," Hanschen said, nodding toward Melchior’s general direction. "I didn’t think I’d have to worry about the hippie chick and the nervous one. But he was very adamant about you and me."

"What did he say?" Ernst suppressed a groan. Of course his friends would stick their noses in. He should have expected it. They probably told him all about the Henry situation and pleaded with him to be gentle and let Ernst down easy.

Hanschen leaned closer again, crowding into Ernst’s space like he belonged there, a mischievous glint in his eyes and the beginnings of a sly smile in the corners of his mouth.

"He said I should stop fucking around. He said I needed to stop playing games, stop playing hard to get or whatever I was doing. Because you were worth it." Hanschen’s face was so close they were practically nose to nose. Ernst could feel Hanschen’s breath on his cheek, the sensation seeping into his skin, tingling like a thousand sparks. "Tell me, Ernst - are you worth it?"

Ernst couldn’t imagine Moritz saying those words in any realm of reality, but at the moment, he just didn’t care. He closed the gap between them and kissed Hanschen hard, their teeth clattering together. Hanschen almost fell backward off the stool, but Ernst grabbed the ledge of the bar at the last moment, his hand around Hanschen’s neck, pulling him up as well.

"We might be a thing. Or it might just be tonight," Hanschen whispered breathlessly, curling his hands around Ernst’s arms.

Ignoring how conspicuous he felt in the crowded bar, Ernst dug his fingers in deeper around the curve of Hanschen’s neck, letting his other hand rest on Hanschen’s knee - which he was pleased to feel was trembling slightly.

"Is that a yes?"

Hanschen was practically buzzing with barely contained lust. It was as if he’d dropped the shield surrounding him. His face had transformed from cold and aloof to raw, honest desire. And even if it was Moritz’ words that had spurred him into action, it was Ernst he wanted. It was Ernst he needed. Ernst felt powerful that he could inspire that level of passion. It wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t a prank, it wasn’t a misunderstanding - it was real. He purposely stared at Hanschen’s mouth and then dragged his gaze upward to meet those silver eyes.

"Why not?" Ernst replied with a smirk.

He dropped a $20 bill on the bar, which was more than enough for his three beers. Then he stood up with a surprising grace given the fact that he felt like he was exploding on the inside, and offered a hand to Hanschen, who eagerly accepted. He let Hanschen lead him toward the front door, his grip on Ernst’s hand like super glue. As they were about to exit, Ernst looked back to wink at Melchior, who was grinning like a proud parent while simultaneously flicking him off.

When Ernst turned back around, he practically pushed Hanschen through the door. Outside the bar, without all of the staring eyes, the fresh air filling his lungs, Ernst took charge, gripping Hanschen’s shirt with his fists. Hanschen leaned in to kiss him, and Ernst surged forward, desperate to feel Hanschen’s full lips against his own. He couldn’t believe it was happening; his pitiful attempt at seduction had actually managed to play itself out better than Ernst even let himself believe was possible. Hanschen’s hands were all over him, large and warm, aching to gasp any and every part of him.

They had to get off the street before clothing started coming off, Ernst thought desperately as he felt Hanschen’s hands slip into his back pockets and cup his ass. The quickest solution was his and Moritz’ thankfully vacant apartment. Ernst took Hanschen’s hands, reluctantly removing them from his body, and turned right to head to the apartment. 

Hanschen tugged at Ernst’s hand and stopped them mid-step. "But my car’s in the garage down the street," he said, trying to pull Ernst in the opposite direction.

"Fuck your place. I live around the corner, and we might not even make it that far."

Hanschen grinned at him for the first time, a slightly crooked smile of white teeth and kiss-bruised lips. For a moment, Ernst thought he would die on the spot, and he wondered how Hanschen had managed to not become a serial killer with that smile. He snapped out of it as Hanschen began pulling him the right way, their fingers intertwined, their arms twirled together, as if letting go would somehow break the spell. But it was real, he reminded himself.

Despite the worrying fact that he now owed Melchior a favor with no idea what that could possibly entail, Ernst had never been so happy to lose a bet in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> \- This was my first jump into SA fic writing and my first participation in an exchange. It was a challenge, and I loved every second. I've actually become quite attached to the AU I constructed, and I hope to kind of continue in the same 'verse at some point in time with the rest of the characters as well.  
> \- As always, you can find me [here on Tumblr](http://feuillyed.tumblr.com/), and I would love to talk to any and all of you!


End file.
